A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(38)

Mrs. Cornish pointed the policemen in the direction of the walled kitchen garden. Tommy Dunn, digging in a corner of the garden, was surprised but not alarmed to see them. “Something I can do for you, Inspector?”

“Yes, Mr. Dunn. Do you remember what exactly Mrs. Cornish said to you, when she came to ask you to fetch Dr. Harris?”

Tommy Dunn thought for a moment. “She said, ‘Quick. Get on that horse and go get Dr. Harris. Mr. Sackville is badly off. We can’t wake him up and I don’t think there’s much time.’”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Did she mention Mr. Sackville’s temperature?”

“No. She came running in her dressing gown and she was out of breath. So I knew something must have happened. I’d ought remembered if she told me he was really cold. I wouldn’t forget.”

“Did it not occur to you that Dr. Harris wouldn’t be home? From what I understand, he posts the date he’d be gone to London on the church noticeboard.”

“Can’t say I read the church noticeboard on the regular. It’s all about on which days the altar flower ladies meet and whatnot.”

They thanked him, returned to the house, and followed Mrs. Cornish to her office. As they passed before the kitchen, Mrs. Meek stuck her head out, a worried expression on her face. “Everything all right?”

“Inspector Treadles has a few more questions, that’s all,” answered Mrs. Cornish, if a bit tightly.

As she offered Treadles and MacDonald seats and tea, she didn’t seem so much nervous as rattled—perhaps it had not occurred to her that the matter was serious enough to merit a return visit.

“Mrs. Cornish,” said Treadles, “would you mind recalling for us exactly what you told Tommy Dunn, when you tasked him to fetch Dr. Harris?”

The housekeeper frowned, whether in surprise or concentration Treadles could not tell. “I can’t promise I remember what I said word for word, but it would be along the lines of ‘Hurry! Jump on that horse and go get Dr. Harris. Mr. Sackville is in a bad way. We can’t wake him up, he’s going cold, and there’s no time to lose.’”

“You are certain you mentioned his temperature?”

“Yes.”

Treadles felt a glance from MacDonald. “Dr. Birch specifically laments that he wasn’t told of it and that was the reason he was ill prepared to deal with an overdose of chloral.”

Mrs. Cornish’s frown deepened. “It must have slipped Tommy Dunn’s mind then.”

“You think so?”

“He’s young and not used to handling emergencies. I wouldn’t be surprised if his mind went blank after he’d heard that Mr. Sackville was in a bad way—he thought the world of Mr. Sackville.”

“I see. Now did it not occur to you that Dr. Harris wouldn’t be home? I believe the day and time of his absence is posted on the church bulletin.”

Mrs. Cornish sighed. “That’s one thing that’s nagged at me ever since that day. I did realize it, but not until Tommy Dunn was at least five minutes gone. The thing was, Dr. Harris didn’t go at his usual time of the month. We’re used to him being gone around the middle of the month. But this time he was gone at least a week ahead of his regular day. And it was only after Tommy Dunn was too far to hear me shout that I remembered reading about the change on the noticeboard the day before, on my way to the railway station.”

“When was the change announced, did you know?”

“Must have been after Sunday, or the vicar would have said something from the pulpit.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cornish.” Treadles rose and inclined his head. “This time we are truly going, I promise.”




“So one of them is lying?” asked Sergeant MacDonald, as they made their way back to the village of Stanwell Moot.

They rode on bicycles that they had brought from London. The bicycles eliminated the need for the local constabulary to provide transportation for Scotland Yard, but more to the point, cycling happened to be an activity Treadles greatly enjoyed, and which was much more difficult to indulge in London. Here in the country the breeze was fragrant, the sun pleasantly warm, and there were no mobs of pedestrians or speeding carriages to contend with.

There were, however, occasional mud puddles to avoid and Treadles guided his bicycle around one before answering MacDonald. “I don’t think one of them has to be lying. It’s quite possible, as Mrs. Cornish said, for a young man unaccustomed to emergencies to not hear everything he’s been told. My mother used to say that if she sent me to the shop to get five things, she’d be lucky if I returned with three.”

MacDonald reached out a hand and let his fingertips brush the bright green leaves of the hedge. “So after a whole afternoon of interviews, we’ve Dr. Harris’s suspicions and nothing else.”

“But that’s a very fine set of suspicions.”

MacDonald was unconvinced. “Is that enough to get the coroner’s jury to return a verdict other than accidental overdose?”

It was patently not enough.

“Well, we still have a few days left for that.” They were near the village. The hedgerows dropped away and a wide vista opened up, green fields and shining sea, with the village’s church tower rising up to an unblemished sky. “And if all else fails, we’ve got ourselves a holiday on the Devon Coast.”